#defiler | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

electrospherevaults · 2 months

Text

Friends And Foes

[Find other stories from the 2024 Friday Writing Challenge here]

This was not the first time she tried to punch her teeth out. Instead she smirked and smiled and spat her own to the floor, getting back up and wiping her blood with her hand. She enjoyed her ferocity – and some would say to the point of jealousy – but she would not dare be caught admitting that now.

Not in front of her.

Her rival and very occasional sparring buddy stood opposite her, hands on hips. This time she had bruised her, she thought, look at how she is holding onto her waist. That cocky smile betrayed pain withheld through gritting teeth.

“Tsk! You lack technique and skill, but you got one adoring quality!”

“And what is that?”

“You are stubborn, my lady!”

She rushed at her, fists raised high, her smirk showing off her fang. She had wound up, exposing her left side, aiming to deliver an overhand.

Typical.

She ducked and dodged out of the way, sliding her own arm to the underside. The sheer panic in her eyes. The delight in hers.

“ALKISSI!”

The two of them froze immediately, retaining their positions perfectly. A snapshot just before the blow landed. Their superior got up from her seat and walked across the arena, each step arriving with a hurried but heavy thud upon the floor. The two rivals breathed heavily, their bodies still entangled and frozen and immobilized. She could feel her breath on the top of her head, and the side of her ribcage clinging against her tantalizingly close claws.

Oh.

Uh-oh!

“No claws,” the superior strictly ordered as she slapped Alkissi’s hand away with her metallic stick. Alkissi let out a yelp, retracting her hand and trying to soothe the burn on her fingers. “You do not fight to kill here. Remember your training, ladies.”

Both of them pressed their fists against their hearts, showing the respect of the salute they had grown to learn. The superior’s face did not move an inch; not a hint of a smile, not a sign of respect. Instead, she sat down upon her throne and crossed her legs.

“Again!”

They turned to face each other. Alkissi cracked her knuckles, whilst the rival affixed her shoulder. They locked eyes. They each awaited the first flinch.

When you first start out on your journey to become a proper Maiden of Wrethella, you are taught all about your body. It is a delicate and powerful tool, capable of feats of strength and miracles of endurance. They then beat into you that each fight is a dance. You are no mere street rat, you represent her holy wrath. You do not simply fight, you perform war. You are an expression, an art form in motion, your bodies singing one next to another in unison, a chorus so effective nobody dares challenge a maiden in combat.

She flinched first.

Before she knew it, Alkissi had her arm grappled and pinned to her side. Her legs crossed hers, her body fell on top of her, entangled, suffocating, lungs pressed tightly against her sternum. Her neck now braced her shoulder and then her head was upside down. Alkissi landed on her back with a thud, hand still held imprisoned. She gasped for air as her rival prepared for a strike that would pin her down for good.

She had not watched for that other arm though.

Alkissi acted quickly; what should have been a quick victory now tumbled down alongside her feet. She swiped at the ankles, making the rival lose her balance and fall next to her. She landed on her arm and she yelped in pain, giving Alkissi precious few seconds to get back up and retain view over the defanged prey.

The rival tried to follow after her. She got half her body back up, one knee still on the floor when she noticed Alkissi overhead. She was simply too slow; slow enough for Alkissi to employ once more her good, old reliable method involving her two trusty hands -- bringing about an uppercut to her jaw. She punched mightily; that knocked her back on the floor.

Much to her sadness, her fang still showed as she smiled through bloodied teeth.

Alkissi scoffed playfully, rubbing her knuckle gently as she saw her stay still. “A throw? Really? After all that transpired? Heh, don’t tell me you’re going soft on me just because you’ve yet to learn how to mend a cut, Labirra!”

“Shut up,” she chuckled laboriously, a few jabs grabbing on her side.

“How about you get up and make me?”

Labirra, her rival, for whom she felt such tantalizing desire to dominate, lifted her head again. She sighed. “You still rely on fists too much, my lady.” She dropped her head back again on the floor, resting her eyes by staring at the beautifully ornate ceiling overhead. “Good fists, though. Very powerful.”

“You feeling dizzy?”

Labirra raised her hand and shook it so-and-so. Alkissi chuckled, giving one last look at her good handy right jab. She almost wanted to kiss it. Not in front of the superior, however; she would save that congratulation for later. She turned to look at the superior and saluted her again, pressing her fist with force against her heart. With this vow of combat done, the superior got up from her seat once more and departed the arena.

The next thing Labirra saw after the depictions of Wrethella and her Six Maidens clad in their colourful armour was the face of Alkissi. The bright light from the windows that extended vertically across the entire walls of the arena gave place to simple pillars and bioluminescent light fixtures hanging on the ceiling. She arose gently, holding onto her head that was accompanied by a massive headache that split her skull in two.

“How long has it been?” Labirra asked, standing upright on the wooden bench. Alkissi sat beside her, having just finished changing back into her blue robes.

“About half an hour, give or take.”

“And you dressed me up?”

“By her grace, no!” She smirked. “Not alone, at least; I had a hand help me out.”

Labirra brought her hands over her face, whole room still spinning around. “Great,” she sighed and got up.

“I hope I wasn’t too mean on ya!”

She snapped back at her. “Mean?! Motherfucker, you gave me a concussion!”

“And you punched my tooth out! Again!”

“It’ll grow back!”

“Yeah, but I liked that one!”

She laughed, taking a few steps to the door. She stumbled; she led herself to the bench next to the one she stood from just prior, opting instead to take that rest. She now had the luxury to bring her second hand over to her head and hold it in place. Surely two hands were better than one and make all this spinning stop.

She did not expect a third hand.

She turned to look at it. Alkissi was holding onto an apple. “Ain’t that your ration?” She nodded. Labirra was about to complain and chastise her rival for wasting her resources on her; then she stopped herself. She did not even utter a single word. Instead, she extended her hand and opened her palm. Alkissi dropped the apple square in the centre.

“Good girl! An apple a day keeps the traumaturgon away, doesn’t it?”

Labirra laughed as she took a chomp out of the thing. It took less than a minute for the headache to go away, and another for the blurriness to fade. She turned to look back at Alkissi and saw that cut above her eye was yet to be sewn.

She scoffed. “Don’t tell me you waited until I was better so I could fix your eyebrow!”

Alkissi simply smiled from ear to ear. “I love a good butcher on the job.” She turned around and brought the med-kit over. “Who knows, maybe tomorrow you won’t get to work your hands on my pretty face at all!”

She relented with a weary sigh. “I’m sorry, Alkissi.”

Alkissi stopped and looked at Labirra. “What happened?”

“Me and the girls are shipping off to Tessereich.” She clicked her teeth. “It was announced at the dorm this morning.”

“Ah. That explains you missing breakfast.” She was handed the apple back, placed gently on her hand. “I’ve heard about that planet. Nasty ongoing war for, what, ten years now?”

“More or less.”

Alkissi stared at it, taking a good look at the bite marks her rival had left. She stared it down, obsessing over the markings, Labirra’s voice droning off as she explained some things about the factions and the soldiers and all the different critters involved. In the end, she took a bite right next to hers. She turned back to Labirra.

“Wanna go at it again?”

“I told you, I’m shipping off to-”

“Now, I mean.”

Labirra stopped. Her mouth was left hanging. She did the calculations in her head. And finally, she showed her fang with her most well-adored smirk.

Not before long, they were standing again within the arena. No superior to supervise them this time. Curious how no other maiden had decided to train on this day – but it was late evening, and the sun would begin to set. Wrethella’s golden façade from the ceiling bounced off the sun’s golden rays, her eyes showcasing the two rivals where to stand as they prepared to meet each other in one final spar, as friends and foes do.

Alkissi took position. She raised her hands over to her head, keeping visual of Labirra right in between them. She was facing off against her with her side pointed towards her – one of her favourite positions to be in.

“Ready?”

She smiled.

“Always.”

Alkissi rushed in first. She practically leaped at her, feet dancing so fast Labirra had no time to react to that first jab that got her cheek, nor the second one that landed just underneath her nose. The fierceness pierced Alkissi’s own skin as her claws dug into her hand. And in the next breath, Alkissi waved her leg, aiming to kick her rival to the ground in a motion so swift it would have ended the fight before it even started.

Labirra deflected; in all the times they had faced off, her rival always preferred to be overtly aggressive than to calculate all the mistakes she opened her body up to. She could take the damage, sure, but to keep fighting like that was a surefire way to the grave, no matter how much of a glutton for punishment you are. And Labirra figured she would deliver that lesson to her once more straight. She stopped the kick with the arm, and with her other fist she delivered an uppercut straight into Alkissi’s sternum.

Alkissi gasped for air; in the next inhale, Labirra pushed her away. The next exhale found her lying down, tripped over her grounded leg by a swiping leg kick. The second kick that was to stomp her whilst she was down on the floor missed; she rolled further back and got on her knees. She turned to look again at Labirra, smiling gently as she wiped blood trickling from her nose.

“You’re giving me all the greatest hits, my lady?”

Alkissi beamed with a grin; she tried to maintain it through the pain as she got back up. She readied her arms for her rival once more.

“What are you aiming for, Alkissi?”

She clicked her tongue in playful contempt. “Didn’t they teach you never to reveal your plans to an enemy combatant, my dear?”

Without hesitation, Alkissi launched again. She went for an uppercut this time, aiming for her jaw. She was deflected once more, in time for her to launch her other fist against her mouth.

It made impact.

Labirra moaned in pain. Immediately, Alkissi sought to dance around her dearest rival, turning even closer. She shifted her whole body weight around, seeking to deliver her next blow with as much force as she could muster. She ended with her back turned against her, pressing tightly against her chest.

And, in that singular moment, she left her breathless.

Her elbow connected straight to her sides.

This dance of war is common for all the initiated in her holy ways – but unlike her old dancing partners, this one could kill you. Labirra grit her teeth, biting her lips until she drew blood. She choked the pain because Alkissi, once more, fell onto her bad over-eager habits. She stayed still as Alkissi wrapped herself into her body. The moment her elbow connected was the moment the fate of this battle was sealed. She brought her arm around her neck and squeezed tightly.

Alkissi panicked. She wound up to deliver another impact to her side, but this only worked against her. Labirra pinned that arm away, locking her own arms together.

Finally, with a careful step of her leg in-between her thigs, she pulled her towards her.

Alkissi was slammed to the floor. She coughed in pain and misery, and then her throat was held, pressed on tightly by Labirra’s own arm. She had a ferocity within her she always admired. She always enjoyed bringing it out of her – and the detractors that called it jealousy were only half-right.

But for now all she could do was stay pinned to the ground, her dear rival on top, choking her with her bare arm. All she could do was look her in the eyes, and smile amidst the pain.

“Guess I won, eh?” she coughed out amidst the choking. Labirra frowned. She ran her tongue against her teeth. She spotted the gap. Her frown turned into a furore as it dropped back into a cocky, naked smile. She released her grip on Alkissi’s throat. Her dearest lady coughed some more of her lungs out, catching the breath she finally needed.

She was not going to make it all that much easier for her as she sat upon her chest, resting upright. She saw the tooth having rolled next to them, sitting by her ear. She bent over, with force; she could not resist making Alkissi let out one more yelp alongside an expletive deriding her. She smiled with satisfaction. She took her hand and put the tooth in her palm. She closed the fingers tightly.

“Guess you won, indeed.”

#2024 Friday Stories #letsrevince #my writing #writing #short fiction #fight scene #sapphic #defiler #maidens of wrethella

13 notes · View notes

electrospherevaults · 3 months

Text

A Dance With My Clone

[Find other stories from the 2024 Friday Writing Challenge here]

Cloning had recently been defined as an illegal theft of the soul. Not unexpected an outcome, really; ephemeral cloning lacked the charm to hold imperfections – they thought of these bodies made of flesh and marrow and blood as cheaper machines, and thusly they were stuck in a valley of uncanny gestures and stiffer movements. They were automatons, the same ones that would collapse when ordered to conduct an orchestra when all they were programmed for was to shove coal into a steam engine – except they breathed.

She understood that flesh and blood held more than that, however. Sure, it was true that the technology always operated under a veneer of grime and slime, a grey morality as she called it, through which bad men got away with doing worse things than they would be normally allowed to do. And if you proved you enacted against a clone and the original person was unharmed, was the crime still of the same significance? It was no surprise that so many parts of the known galaxy had long enacted such strict laws against the practice.

But she was lonely. An only child, a single heiress to the House of Fern – one of the oldest known names in the galaxy – and her daddy, whom she had loved very much, passed away suddenly in his sleep many years ago. More debts remained from him than friends, and thusly young Amelia Fern had to get crafty quickly.

And the rest, as they say, was history. She performed the first cloning, willingly, and she performed the first public appearance with her own clone. They danced under the moonlight together, two droplets of water identical to each other, observed by both top scientists and top men the entire night. A reproduction so perfect had never been achieved before.

A reproduction.

The word held importance. To create a copy of yourself is considered anathema in most major religions, but Amelia Fern argued that a reproduction held merit. She reasoned that without reproductions many pieces of art would have been lost to history, to rot and decay, and we would have forgotten what made us who we are. She saw her clone in the mirror and saw not just another being of flesh and creation, but an art form perfected. She saw herself perfected. And she saw not just friends and family, but company for the rest of her life, now stretching beyond her wildest imaginations.

And now her empire was to crumble in one swift signage, one flick of the wrist done kilometers away.

Sir Johnsen knocked on her door. He knew Amelia had stopped consuming the news through modern means, and relied more on others to relay them to her. The House of Fern had re-established itself as an untouchable modern bastion of progress and art. Why would the commoners’ law affect her again now? Johnsen rang the doorbell and knocked with more force.

She finally opened the door. Her slim cheeks and her red bow as familiar as ever.

“Amelia, I-”

“Mistress Fern is awaiting you in the lounge, Sir Johnsen.”

“Ah,” Johnsen responded, recognizing Amie the maid. A grave mistake. He left her his coat and his hat, and proceeded further inside the mansion. He did not need to address the help Amelia had cloned out of herself to help around the manor. The last heir of the House of Fern instead concerned herself with more pressing manners, such as lounging by the sofa, feet on the pillow next to her, sipping on a singular glass of wine from the second bottle she had just ordered Amie to open for her. She raised her glass and welcomed him with a big courteous smile. He relaxed a bit.

“I heard about the ruling,” he said, tone almost hushed, feeling as if he was being watched. “I thought I would pass by and check on you.”

“You need not to worry, dear,” Amelia responded. “Business will keep booming.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She brought the glass to her lips, a few drops spilling on her dress below. Johnsen, ever the pretend-gentleman he thought himself to be, turned his gaze away. She smirked once she was done. “You would be surprised by how many senators and lords still seek a body. Some even choose to have a body double even! Imagine that depravity, dear Johnsen!”

“I see…” he said hesitantly, taking a look around. He coughed, and he then saw Amelia right in front of him, offering him her glass, with the lipstick still printed on its lip. He brought it closer. The wine had a sharp taste, and her smile was even sharper, laughing the bitter aftertaste of those mushed grapes with joy.

“Don’t forget, my dear,” Amelia said, as she poured herself another glass, “that we made this business together. You were the last one that stayed loyal to my ailing father, may the gods rest his soul, and it was also your idea to pursue this trade.” He turned around, but she only smirked. “I am not complaining! A lady from one of the most esteemed houses of these lands does give a lot of credence – and I do love my sisters running about and helping me around my manor.”

She turned to look towards the maid, the one who had answered him at the door. She offered a gentle smile back to her mistress. He could only feel ambivalence about the creature; she was not Amelia, no matter how much she dressed them like her. In the end, he could only let out a weary sigh. “I am glad you are taking all this in much better humour than I am, because frankly…”

He stopped and turned around. Only a slight giggle followed after him. “Always the pessimist,” she retorted with some slight indignation and scorn in her voice. Gauloiserie wine was not for those faint of heart, or stomach – and gods knew if she has had anything to eat all day. “How about we change the subject…”

Johnsen turned to look at her. Music started playing. Eulenlieder. He winced.

“Would you like to dance?”

“I will see you in the morning, Amelia, after you’ve sobered up.”

He walked out the door after grabbing his coat in a hurry. And she laughed as she awaited his frustrated arrival in the morning. But until then, the night was young, and the bottle still half-full. “Amie,” Amelia dictated, leaving her glass on the floor as the music picked up. “Dance with me.”

Amie, who up until this day had never refused a call from the mistress she shared a face with, complied. She opened her arms, assuming the position, and took on the lead. Perfectly practiced, exceedingly well performed. A step left, a nudge right, a swing and pirouette – the former ballerina knew these rhythms well. She knew the rhythm her mistress dictated. It was said that Eulenlieder had been their mother’s favourite, the one she danced on her wedding day. This was the same dance that made her and Amelia famous too; a rhythm they knew by soul, through beating heart to beating heart, exercised out in the open on the ballroom of the Fern Mansion that fateful night all those years ago. She was not the Amie that danced with Amelia; she couldn’t have been. But Amelia did not mind. She preferred it that way, some might say. Not before long, they settled into their rhythm, dancing together as they had danced hundreds of thousands of times before. Amelia, the daze from her wine slowly replaced by the comfort of her perfume adorned by the maid that she made in her own image, laughed gently.

“You remember our first dance, my dear Amie? You remember how we swooned them together, just you and me?” She allowed herself to fall, to be caught by her hands. Amie never let her down. She never let her fall. She never let her go. She laughed, charmed as she hung in mid-air, her maid holding her so delicately and so assuredly. She pulled her back up, and they continued their slow dancing. The song was coming to an end. “You were, by far, my finest creation, my dear,” she said as she rested her head on her shoulder. Amie let her. She was shaking, feeling her breathing against her neck, the delicate hands they shared still intertwined. Her mistress closed her eyes. She instead turned her gaze away, out towards the glass window. She saw her reflection combining with hers; two drops of water that splash against glass on a rainy day, now finally conjoined. They formed a greater whole, what Amelia called a greater purpose.

She spent a long time swaying gently with her to the left and to the right, her mistress lulled by their rhythm that the proximity of familiarity afforded. She knew her, after all; she was her, after all; it was always her, after all.

Before she knew what transpired, she snapped her neck like a twig.

The last heiress of the House of Fern collapsed on the floor. The rain outside intensified. From the rooms adjacent, more maids came out; valets and waiters and staff Amelia kept in order to afford her still luxurious living, without having to change the amount of people that stayed in this manor.

After all, it was only her.

#2024 Friday Stories #letsrevince #my writing #writing #short fiction #defiler #original fiction #original characters #honestly wanted to do a second draft but i dont really got time and thusly im posting it now a day late lol my bad enjoy regardless!

17 notes · View notes